


One Last Talk

by turianjournalist16



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Character Death, Child Death, Rated M for Themes, Violence, everything the scourge touches turns to sadness, it gets rough at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 04:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20521892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turianjournalist16/pseuds/turianjournalist16
Summary: Some backstory for one of my WoW character because why not.A death knight returns home one last time...





	One Last Talk

**Author's Note:**

> *Rolls in 11 years late with a death knight OC and Starbucks*
> 
> Wrath of the Lich King was my favorite expansion and I've recently been reliving my middle school days so I decided to roll a death knight and I gave him a backstory because what else am I going to do when I stare blankly off into space at my retail job. Also, this is one of my few forays into writing sad things so hope I did good.

There were many towns like this one throughout the old human kingdoms. Ones that had been left to the ghosts as the scourge had swept through each and every little village to ensure annihilation. Wayderian dismounted his death charger at one. A small hamlet that had once been a quiet farming community nestled between the mountains. His boots crunched the yellowed grass underneath. The smell of decay and must mingled, but he’d grown used to that long ago. Cold air swept around him, billowing his cloak out and carrying the sound of a distant sob. He just needed to do one thing. One thing. He’d be able to leave this place behind him forever and let it finally rest. 

Taking a deep breath he didn’t need, the death knight began walking down the worn dirt path. He saw movement flitting in the corners of his eyes. Small shadows playing around him. Then, a fraying ball that had once been red bounced towards his feet, bumping against his boot. He gave it a gentle kick back to where it had come from. It went through a hole in the broken fence, disappearing into the overgrown weeds. There was laughter now; children’s laughter that danced on the wind and faded slowly out. He heard the ball continue to roll in the grass. 

_ Kids in the village loved to play out on the road in old man Brady’s field. It was big and the cows didn’t pay them any attention. The sky was blue without a cloud in it. Wayderian leaned on the fence he’d just finished fixing for the old widower, watching his younger sister, Arlissa, and a few of the other local kids kick the red ball one of their grandmothers had made. Her brown hair was coming loose from the tight braids their mother had put in and her church dress was getting muddy. At least her favorite blue ribbons were still in. He knew she didn’t care. Mother insisted on the old traditions, but Arlissa idolized the paladins who had taken roost in the church. She wanted to be like them, not a seamstress like her mother.  _

_ To his left, the sound of thundering hooves made him turn his head. A small group of knights were riding into town like hell was on their heels and a storm was imminent. When they passed by, he saw that there was blood spattered all over them. One of them looked ready to fall over. She turned to Wayderian, a haunted look in her eye.  _

_ “Run...” _

Kicking aside the rotted wood, he entered the small town. He felt something grab his hand, but there was nothing there when he looked down. It felt familiar, though, so he let it stay there. Any scourge that had been here had been cleared out by adventurers long ago. He knew he wouldn’t need to fight in this place. Not again. Defending barren bones and cold wind would be as futile as defending someone who had long since abandoned you. They weren’t there anymore. You can’t protect them from anything now. The only thing you can do is hope they find peace wherever they are and are living a better life than you. 

Most of the town square was a mess of old barricades and rusty farming tools. Wind whistled through holes and cave ins in the buildings around him. The tree in the center of the square, once tended to by a night elf druid who’d left when the Crusade arrived, was barren save a single red leaf. It tore off in the next gust of wind, fluttering around his head briefly before it landed gently at his feet. 

_ Wayderian stood near his friends, goofing around as the town gathered in the square. The tree Delysia had been nurturing was in full bloom, it’s green leaves giving shade to everyone gathered. On the stand stood the mayor and the Scarlet Commander. The paladin was in the regalia of the Scarlet Crusade, who had agreed to aid the town in exchange for food. After the arrival of the group of knights, the mayor had called for this meeting, stating that it was urgent. Mother had told Arlissa to stay at home. Wayderian wondered if this was just another one of those scare tactics trying to get more recruits for the Crusade. He’d considered it, once. However, his father had said he was an idiot and told him to stick to handy work. The Light didn’t just need warriors.  _

_ Commander Beckwith spoke, “My good people! The scourge are upon us! We must not let their destruction continue to lay waste to the living! Begin preparations immediately! We will see to it that those worthy of the Light are protected!” _

His hand was tugged towards the church. It felt like a hundred eyes were on him right now, but not in a bad way. He knew what it was like to be hated. People had spit at him, threatened him with death, and even thrown him out of inns and taverns. He’d needed to prove to them that he was still good. That he was there to be a protector, not a murderer. Right now, it felt like he’d already proved that. Walking through the ruins, hearing the wood creak and the whispers float on the breeze, he could feel comfort. Not true comfort, more like a faded memory that he was trying to grasp every single thing about just to feel that sense of happiness. It was always out of his grasp, but yet it wasn’t. 

The pull lead him to a once proud stone building. One of the large wooden doors was half buried in the dirt, the other was hanging on a single hinge. Old weapons were littered around this area. Some bones that had been left by whoever had come through from the Argent Crusade to sanctify this were sticking up. They were in the same place his best friend, Amsden, had been overwhelmed by the scourge. He’d been a good person. A soft, warm person whose only goal in life had been marrying the baker’s daughter. Now, his bones were just an impromptu grave marker. No name, no kind words, just bones. Had he known that baker’s daughter had already died behind him, or had he been convinced she would be alright? 

He walked up the broken steps that were covered in bloodstains and bone fragments. The stained glass windows had broken long ago, only leaving one ray of gold angled towards the door. Another cold breeze wafted around him. Before he entered, he took off his helm and placed it in his pack. Then, he stepped inside, old floorboards creaking under his weight. Whatever was holding onto his hand let go. 

_ “They’ve abandoned us!” Farmer Donough screamed, running into the church with blood streaming down his face. “The Crusade ran off as the scourge arrived! We’re doomed!”  _

_ The town priest stood on the pulpit overlooking the weary remaining villagers, looking like he was giving funeral rights to everyone. Below are the children, the infirmed, and anyone else who couldn’t defend themselves. Wayderian stood with his mother and father, trying to stay strong. He knew that it was impossible odds, but he couldn’t stop fighting. The Scourge live on despair. They exploit it and make you one of their own that way. If he fought on and didn’t lose hope, the Light wouldn’t abandon him. It wouldn’t abandon them. They would be able to escape through the cellar below that lead to salvation.  _

_ “Keep fighting! Our top priority is protecting our children!” the priest shouted. On the other side of the barred doors, they heard the scourge tear through those defending outside. “We are never abandoned if the Light is still with us!”  _

Most of the pews were shoved to the side or broken. A few candelabras were on the ground while some defiantly stood against time. The Scarlet Crusade banners that had once adorned the walls behind the pulpit were tattered, as they should be. Against the walls were the rows of dusty, unused candles. They were a stark white against the bleakness of the abandoned church. Wayderian made his way towards them, ignoring the scorch marks at the door to the crypt. 

_ They were holding back the Scourge at the doors when there was suddenly screaming coming from behind. Wayderian’s eyes went like saucers as he turned towards the door to the crypt. The screaming continued. It kept getting louder and louder. No one moved, everyone was trying to restrain the door, but they all looked sick. No. This couldn’t be happening. The Light wouldn’t let this happen to them. They were all just simple farmers. Good people. Families with children who had never much cared for the conflict between the Horde and the Alliance, much less any other forces. It wasn’t right.  _

_ Suddenly, there was silence.  _

_ Then, the door flew off and crushed a few people against the wall. The Scourge poured in, followed by a death knight. Wayderian felt the blood drain from his face. In that death knight’s hands was a blue ribbon. The scourge on the other side broke through. People were screaming, dying, being eaten alive by those who had once been people, then raised to do the same to their friends. Wayderian moved through the fight, taking out as many of the bastards as he could. He wanted that ribbon back.  _

_ His mother and father fell before his eyes, defending each other. He had to push on. If he could take down that death knight, maybe he could stop this. One ghoul tore into his arm and he spun around and killed it. Then another came for him. Then another. Then another. He lost count of how many he killed. He ignored that some of them had his friend’s faces. Instead, he focused on rushing the death knight. He crashed into it, screaming at the pain as his body hit full plate armor. The thing was stunned long enough for Wayderian to take his axe and bury it in the thing’s neck, watching blood trickle dully from the wound. It staggered back. Wayderian didn’t see the other knight come from behind. He was knocked onto the ground.  _

_ The death knight loomed over him, rune blade pointed down at him... _

Wayderian pulled out a matchbook he’d bought in Dalaran. It had the illustration of a dragon on the box along with instructions written in both common and orcish. He lit one up and let it go. It flew to all the candles along the back wall, taking the room from dusk to high noon. Once it was done, it put itself out. He kneeled at the center of the candles, knowing a few feet behind him was his own bloodstain on the ground. 

“I know...I know I’m not...” he took a shaky breath, “I know I’m damned. Please, let me send a message to my family. Tell them I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

He felt the tears run down his face as he sobbed quietly. 

“I miss them. When I first broke from the Lich King, I just wanted my mother to hold me and tell me everything was going to be alright. It’s not fair. Everyone expects me to be some brooding killer, but I just want my mom and my dad and my sister. I don’t want to be a hero, I just want my family again.” 

He breathed in again, letting himself cry. Around him, he felt the air grew colder and the flames of the candles danced around him. Then, he felt an arm go around him. A hand was placed on his shoulder and another, smaller hand on his forearm. For the first time since his death, he felt warmth. Not the warmth from the candles, but that warmth you get when you know you’re loved by someone. When you know that it’s going to be okay because you are capable of being loved and loving in return. 

When that feeling finally went away, all the candles were out except for three. On the ground at his feet was a blue ribbon. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed :)


End file.
